So — about that last post.

No Worcester tonight — this was because of continuing car issues. One of our cars is in the shop for at least another 5-6 days being repaired after my accident last weekend ($3k in damage), so we’re down to one and there were too many places to be with one car.

No NY this weekend — related issues; realized that I’d be gone all weekend based on available bus schedules, etc., if I didn’t want to take the car so Anne could have it — plus she’s not feeling well again. Sorry, all…I was really looking forward to this weekend; while I wasn’t going down entirely for pleasant reasons (and that’s another story entirely), there were promises of more fun later on.

Canada —

Well, I can say this much: part of the fact that I’m staying was personal, and my choice; part of it was not.

Let’s just say that since I’m staying, you can bet your ass I ain’t gonna be quiet — or passive — now. Got it?

Thank you, all, for all your kind comments and thoughts. I am proud to know you.

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Column’s coming…migraine sidetracked me last night.

And…it’s up. A brief romp inspired by yet another new guitar…it’s right here.

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Finally, for you real hardcore reading wanks….some deep shit to chew on.

http://cryptome.org/terror-myth.htm

Eclipse

“Every day above ground
is an answered prayer to the god
of small consequences” — that is something

my father never said to me, but
I wish he had. I wish someone had.
It would have meant so much more

if I’d learned it
from someone
instead of having to learn it on my own. Of course,

that’s not what they tell you
when you finally get it:
they say it’s all about going through

the experience
in order to make it more meaningful.
“You wouldn’t have understood

or believed it if we’d told you.” Well,
screw that noise. Screw all the human noise.
It does no human child any good

to have that vague advice about the bright side slung at you
when you’re not looking
for it, if no one also grabs you by the scruff of the neck and

forces you to look at the darkened sun, saying,
“There will be days like this all your life, sport;
what looks bright will blacken, what seems clear

will become obscure. They’re going to tell you
it’s an omen for some awful shift, the planet rearranging,
diamonds crumbling to ash in your hand. Screw THAT noise.

It always comes back, it always continues, and even if you’re blinded
by the return, you’ll still be here. You’re going to be ok: that’s
a small consequence of the way this world is always reborn.”

Nice “SPEAK” tonight. Highlights for me (among many) were Dave and Heather’s pair of poems on a painting by Wil Barnet, and Dave I’s second poem.

The whole question about the rapid fire performance delivery that seems to be enforced by slam these days came up several times tonight. Folks who believe they can’t “perform” a piece without being in that mode, so they look for ways to deliver the pieces that way when it’s not the best way to deliver that particular poem. I hate this rigidity.

The older I get, the slower and softer I read, most of the time — can still reach for it if need be, but I find it rarely is needed.

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Then I watched about 45 minutes of the debate.

I think they both looked like idiots most of the time. This is the best we can do?

Edge tonight in my eyes went to Kerry on the minimum wage question alone; other than that, total draw based on what I saw.

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Gotta figure out plans for the NY trip this weekend — without a car now (Anne’s is in the shop over the weekend for sure) so it’s either the train or the bus.

onward…

The theme for tonight at SPEAK is “falls”. Not fall — falls.

The first time I recall
falling was when I very young and
my father fell down the stairs
with me in his arms. I was so young
I do not recall the hurt or the fall
or any fear.

I have always since then
feared a sudden loss of solid ground
below my feet, a drop into air
and a stop at the end.
I wish I could tell you I grew up wanting to fly.
I wanted to burrow underground instead.
I wanted to swim and nearly drown and skid into walls
and I did all those things one by one;

but when I consider all the times I should have fallen
from walls or bridges or face to face meetings
with beautiful strangers in high places, I find the scars
from the lesser dangers ache
a little differently, more urgently; my ears bend back as if
the wind was taking them anyway,
and I wish I had risen, no matter the cost;
I wish I had fallen
for real,
even just once.

The reason I posted the Matthew Shepherd picture specifically in response to specific Red Sox/Yankees trash talk was that I was struck by how simultaneously homophobic AND violent it was.

I am never surprised by such stuff…but that doesn’t mean I can’t comment on it.

If you want the shit to stop flowing, you have to cut off even the tiny rivulets.

That is all.

After reading the Red Sox/Yankees trash talk, this seemed appropriate.

THE ULTIMATE SILENCE
October 12, 1998

Six years ago today, Matthew Shepard was murdered for being homosexual.

What will you do to end the silence?

Click here to post this on your own page or weblog

new poem

I’m one giant ache…think I’m getting the flu.

Huge weekend coming up, too…supposed to be selling at a flea market on Saturday (ugh, if I feel like this) and having dinner with Jack McCarthy and a couple other folks on Sunday before his feature.

Ugh.

Anyway…rose a couple of hours ago and put together a column; part of the countdown series…

It asks for ideas for the future remaining columns. Don’t be shy. Please comment there, ok? It helps the site stay active. Thank you.

Off to bed…did I say ugh? I did?

Ugh.

the first interview went swimmingly.

not looking at a permanent move — at least, not at first. probably a long term assignment of ten months/one year to start.

the whole thing was pretty upbeat; i’m pleased.

wouldn’t start, most likely, until after the first of the year.

coincidentally, i am spending the afternoon with the guy who would be my boss while i’m up there. good chance to get to know one another better.

o, canada…

because tomorrow is the first face to face “Canadian interview.”

Wish me luck.

I haven’t discussed my listening/playing lately. So…

Recent listening includes the finally completed “Smile,” the legendary lost album of the Beach Boys/Brian Wilson. I’m not a huge BB/Wilson fan (although I love the trio he did with Rob Wasserman and his daughter Carnie, “The Bells of Madness”) but felt like I owed it a listen.

It’s weird and gorgeous. Damn, I find myself starting to become addicted.

Go borrow it and then buy it, to ensure that you like it. (Or for you modern types, download it from somewhere.)

Right this minute, I’m listening to “Do The Strand” by Roxy Music. I really, really love this band, who are responsible for two of my favorite songs of all time, “More Than This” and “Dance Away The Heartache.” Despite the punk trappings and cynicism, I’m a romantic at heart, I guess.

As for playing…hmm. I’ve been remiss. When I have been playing, it’s been on the 1948-52 Regal Archtop (finally got a brand on it from headstock shape).

Still trying to decide whether to keep it acoustic or install the vintage DeArmond pickup. I’m leaning toward the pickup; I have a Kent floating pickup that I add to it occasionally and I really like the sound.

Next step after that will either be the Martin (probably the mahogany 12-fret slope shoulder slot head D-15 dreadnought) or a Fender Hot Rod DeVille amp.

Sigh…wish I were home writing and playing right now.

Last night at Wordharvest: lovely. Freeform poetry sharing with drums and nice energy, no egos.

Tonight at Dave’s surprise birthday party: damn fine. He was shocked. Heather did a great job setting him up, and we had a great time knocking him down…

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I’m still thinking about all who are feeling like the only viable vote out there is a vote for Kerry, and I do understand…I share your fear.

I wouldn’t be working on a move to Canada if I didn’t.

But you must understand that I have fought against the two party system for twenty-four years now, and have no intention of giving up that fight.

If I were sitting in a swing state, I’d be thinking harder about this vote. And I would likely break my rule and vote for Kerry if I was.

Consider this though: in the last election, Gore won the popular election by half a million votes.

Half a million.

The problem was not that he didn’t get enough votes. The problem was that he didn’t get them in the right places.

I do not trust the two party system to want to effect true change in the status quo here.

I feel like Americans have gotten dumber by the year, and I see not one sign of that changing.
Therefore, we get the election we deserve. We get the officals we deserve.

Well, I don’t deserve either of these guys. I deserve better.

We deserve better.

Out of this shitstorm better days will come; but I fear what’s coming before they arrive. I don’t know if it’s going to take the form of paper ballots or lead bullets, cries of love or anger or both, stretched over years or decades; it’s gonna hurt, I know.

But we deserve better, and we will get it.

Since leaving home
is not the answer
unless the question is,
“Where did home go?” I’ve let

long nights of neon and
scrambled porn substitute for
a full life. I scream
at the window shades, then

I stick a knife into the couch pillows
in the spare room,
hoping one of them will bleed.
Anything to liven things up.

Yes, I’m drunk again. Yes,
I’m thinking again about which celebrities
I would hump, given the chance. Yes,
I am thinking of you again — unremarkable

you, unfamous you, you with the open
life and the minivan fantasies.
I want to spell you on a white page
until you come true again, until you

step into the room and offer me sheetcake,
ruby-faced dolls, the right to turn the
TV off forever. I cut myself and drop the red knife —
it’s nothing serious. Nothing I wouldn’t have lost anyway.

Close and lock the doors. Leave my shoes
by the stairs. Let the cats up from the basement,
watch them mouse about looking for you, poking at the blood,
looking at me for food, shelter, reassurance.

Offically, now, I’m at 200 MG Lamictal daily.

Which makes 750mg Lithium, 10mg Prozac, 25-50mg Seroquel, and 200mg Lamictal every day.

Let the games begin.

With dosages like this, maybe I should be in a group home. Better ask my dentist about that.

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Skipped Zork at the Asylum tonight. Maybe I should regret it. I don’t think so.

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I’ll be in DC to feature on Dec. 12, if any of y’all care to drop by.

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More tomorrow. Poem in progress, and it’s calling.

I went to the dentist today to have a minor crack fixed in a tooth.

Last time I was there, the hygienist took a lot of notes about my current condition, and we talked about some of the ramifications of the meds I take for my mental health on my dental health (dry mouth, etc.). Very helpful, quite appropriate. I really like my hygienist — and my dentist, too, I should mention.

He came into the room today, we shook hands…and he asked me where I was living these days. As I haven’t moved in a while, I was a bit puzzled.

Then he asked me if I was living in a group home.

Ah, the stigmas of mental illness…

I was gentle with him, as he was about to drill into my face.

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John Powers gets married tomorrow!!!! Off to the wedding early, back late. Might take the camera…

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Finally, here’s a rewrite of the last poem, which I really like; not at all like the recent poems, but I am definitely hearing it in performance right now.

Thanks for the feedback, dead_kitty.

THE LAST WORD